


A Dangerous Spark

by BristlingBassoon



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Awkward Sex, Canon Era, Dancing, F/F, First Time, Homophobia, Munitions factory AU, Mutual Pining, Ridiculous Flirting, Vaguely Canadian, Winters overthinking everything, World War II, bomb girls au, femmeslash, gender swapped characters, girls dancing together, these two are complete disasters by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BristlingBassoon/pseuds/BristlingBassoon
Summary: The heads swivelled towards her now, and a slight hush came over the room. “Ladies, a new worker. Miss Nixon is joining us on the floor.”
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	A Dangerous Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handmepleaseacity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handmepleaseacity/gifts).



> For HandMePleaseACity, who got very excited at the thought of me doing a Bomb Girls femmeslash AU and wouldn't let me leave it as a half-baked idea. 
> 
> This isn't a crossover, it just borrows the scenario from Bomb Girls. It's been a very long time since I watched Bomb Girls, so bear with me! Funnily enough Gladys Witham is a pretty good analogue for Lewis Nixon - rich heir to a big factory fortune who wants to actually participate in the war in a meaningful way, even if it's dangerous, instead of waiting out the entire war somewhere safe. Maybe one of these days I'll write an actual crossover where they walk into a bar.

It was strange coming into the building through a different entrance. No more walking into the office, up those precarious metal stairs, looking over the gantries and cranes on the factory floor, on the line, the girls in white and blue and red like a patriotic painting. No more wearing heels and skirts. No more Mr Beecham, no more typing. Now she’d be thinking of her working day as a shift, rather than a day. Now, she answered to Mrs Lipton, who came walking down the corridor towards her as she stood, waiting, not sure what to expect.

She seemed a nice enough woman, although her face was tired and careworn, and the little she could see of her hair underneath the turban was an indifferent colour and not styled especially well. She wore a mid-blue dress and flat shoes, and wore on her face a scar. Dog bite, perhaps. Or razor gang, thought Lou fancifully, thinking of the lurid reports that appeared in the newspaper at breakfast. It was a working face, although Mrs Lipton had tried to gussy it up with lipstick.

“Miss Nixon,” she said, with a hint of deference and also a hint of wariness, as if she didn’t trust this interloper to the factory floor. “You’ll be on blue shift, if that suits. Punctuality is a must, and all the girls are required to shower and change into the uniform before the shift, and shower and change afterwards. These are dangerous substances, and not to be taken lightly. Do you understand?”

Lou nodded, knowing that Mrs Lipton took her for a dilettante.

They were walking now, over to a room painted in an industrial green. “Locker room,” said Mrs Lipton, swinging the door open with a brisk push of her arm. A group of women occupied the room, in their slips and out of them, some towelling, some tying their hair into turbans, some clambering into their coveralls. The room was thick with chatter. Lou had seen these women before, but as anonymous worker bees, bustling on the factory floor. That would change now. She would grow to know them, and each face unfamiliar to her now, each blonde, brunette, redhead would resolve themselves to being girls she knew, Joans, Bettys, Noras, Marys, perhaps.

“Ladies,” Mrs Lipton called out, her voice ringing against the tiles. 

The heads swivelled towards her now, and a slight hush came over the room. “Ladies, a new worker. Miss Nixon is joining us on the floor.”

The faces turned towards her did not look especially welcoming.

Mrs Lipton nodded towards a tall, lean redheaded girl, who had a foot up on one of the benches and was occupied in lacing her shoes. “Daisy, I’d like Miss Nixon to shadow you today.”

The girl raised her head, looked at Lou and nodded. Her face didn’t show the same slight sneers many of the other girls were wearing, but the blankness that replaced it seemed careful, deliberate, as if Daisy didn’t want to reveal her ill-will immediately. Might leave her with no cards to play, Lou thought, as the expression was an excellent poker face. Mrs Lipton nodded and moved on, greeting each of the women in turn as if she were a schoolmistress and they were her pupils.

“I’m Daisy Winters. Welcome to blue shift, Miss Nixon” said Daisy, with a studied evenness.

“It’s Lou,” Lou replied, trying for a charming smile.

Daisy gave her a faint, polite nod in response. “You’ll need to get changed. You got your uniform?”

“Yes,” Lou said, inclining her head towards the bundle in her arm. “Guess I’d better shower.”

“Shower, and take all of the pins out of your hair, any earrings, any buckles out of your shoes. Anything metal.” Lou looked at her, confused. “Could cause a dangerous spark.”

A dangerous spark. Not much of a chance of _that_ happening, thought Lou, looking at the serious girl in front of her with a degree of disappointment. Part of her had wanted to take on the job because she’d felt left out up there in the office with only Mr Beecham and Helen, a silly girl who was constantly talking about her fellow in the army and what dress she was going to wear when she next saw him. The girls on the floor seemed to have a camaraderie about them. She’d see them leaving the factory laughing, arms linked, and knew there was no way of taking part in that sort of thing unless she left the high tower she sat in. Hadn’t had pals like that since Radcliffe, and everyone was so busy these days, constantly blathering on about patriotic duty that they didn’t seem to have much time to get together like they used to.

Everyone except the girls seemed so serious, which was funny, because they were making bombs and risked being blown to smithereens whenever they went into work. Maybe that was why they weren’t serious, because the risk made them grab onto life and enjoy it as much as they possibly could in the short time they had left. Like the men in the army, who needed their spirits constantly lifted no matter what the cost. Lou had heard a good many bawdy references to how you could lift a soldier’s spirits, although it seemed a cheap sort of pleasure with a hell of a lot of risk. Your fellow might be off in another port, to another girl, and there you were, with only a pair of stockings to show for it - or worse, another future soldier growing inside you.

The fun the girls had, on the other hand, seemed the cleaner kind. Not that Lou was usually interested in clean.

But this girl, this Daisy, who was explaining seriously to her how she ought to arrange her hair so not to have her face ripped off, how she should have shoes with a cork sole, how she should make sure to have good sleep and not go dancing too often because fatigue could kill productivity, well, she seemed no fun at all.

Lou sighed, and resolved to try and pal around with some of the other girls once the day was over. But on the floor, a sense of terror suddenly gripped her, a feeling that one slip might well send her to oblivion - or, given some of the things she’d been up to over the course of her twenty-three years alive, straight to hell. Plus, those giant hooks craning up to the ceiling holding bombs - there was the girl who’d had her face ripped off, wasn’t there? That wasn’t just a story to scare the new girls, was it? Apparently not, the girl was still in hospital, according to a hushed discussion she’d overheard between a mousy blonde and a sturdy looking girl with eyes the colour of ash.

So she was glad of Daisy, methodically checking on her, making sure she poured the nitro carefully, making sure her eyes didn’t stray from the line. She walked carefully but briskly around the room, and whenever her head dipped to look at a girl’s work, Lou could see the ginger hairs escaping from the turban at the nape of her neck, and hoped that perhaps, one day, Daisy might see some good in her.

They sat together over some indifferent food in the canteen. Daisy appeared to have a good appetite, methodically cutting small pieces of potatoes and meatloaf (with how much meat in it, Lou wondered), and chewing carefully, mouth closed, a look on her face that indicated gratitude. For the food, small as it was. For the job, perhaps. For the break from toil. Lou wondered if she’d ever had anything worth looking forward to. She pushed her own plate aside, not finding much of an appetite.

Daisy finished and took a neat sip of coffee. There was a thoughtful look in her watercolour-blue eyes as she looked at Lou, who smiled at her in what she hoped was an encouraging fashion. Something told her that Daisy Winters was a woman worth impressing, and that it wouldn’t be easy to do so.

“Are you a Lucy or a Louise?” Daisy said, putting the cup down.

“Neither,” Lou said. Daisy looked a little surprised. “I’m a Louisa.”

At this, Daisy’s face grew even more reflective, if that were possible.

“Louisa. That’s -“

“Old fashioned, I know,” said Lou swiftly, wanting to make a joke of it before she did. She took a swig of her own coffee and found it distastefully tepid, but it took some of the taste of the alleged food out of her mouth, so that was worth something. “It was my grandmother’s name. Turns out that even if you’re wealthy, you still get cast-offs.”

This attempt at humour was rewarded by a small smile from the redhead. Not much more than a little crook of the mouth, but it did something for her thin, serious face. Lou resolved to see if she could wring more smiles out of her, whenever possible.

“I was about to say it was literary,” Daisy replied.

“Oh, Louisa May Alcott? Yes, I suppose so,” Lou said. “I can’t say I’m much of a writer myself, never had the patience to sit down and scribble for that long. Maybe that’s why I don’t use the full name. Haven’t proven worthy of it.”

At this, the minute smile on Daisy’s face was replaced with a minute frown. Seemed that self-deprecation wasn’t going to endear her to this woman. Lou felt compelled to offer her something else.

“At Radcliffe the girls used to call me Nixie.”

“Nixie!” Daisy exclaimed - and could that be a proper smile? “That speaks of some spark.”

“Very girls’ own adventure, I know,” Lou replied, and watched as Daisy flushed slightly, and, without asking, took both their trays.

————-

“So, what do you think of our new girl on blue shift?” Harriet was sitting on Daisy’s bed, flicking through a copy of McCall’s.

Daisy looked at her friend, who sat suspended in maddening calm, a little unruffled Irish thing. Daisy, on the other hand, felt like she’d expended all of her calm at work. Part of her always felt afraid, having a girl in her room. Even if it was just Harriet, who was constantly waxing lyrical about her fiancé Kevin, and who felt right at home kicking off her shoes and sticking her darned toes on Daisy’s pillow, content to talk while Daisy knitted, mended or tried hard to concentrate on one of her little accounting books. Maybe it was stupid trying to keep up with these correspondence bookkeeping courses, but it seemed the best chance of a future for her. God knows she couldn’t face going out to look for a Kevin of her own, no matter how happy Harriet seemed with him.

There was a creak in the corridor of one of the other girls walking to the bathroom, no doubt to stay there for the next thirty minutes, using up all the hot water.

“Why you so jumpy, anyway?” Harriet said, noticing the way Daisy had shifted uncomfortably at the sound.

Because you’re in my room, Daisy thought. Because I can’t have a girl in my room, either because I’ll start thinking something, or you’ll start thinking I’m thinking something, or someone else will think your visit isn’t innocent and they’ll start thinking something. She imagined being normal. Being able to relax having a girl in your room, not even thinking that there could be anything more in store for you than cocoa and cards.

Not that there was any cocoa left. They’d used up the cocoa ration already.

Daisy was now dimly aware of Harriet raising a hand in front of her face.

“Hello? New girl? Blue shift? Ah hell, how ‘bout I just share what I think of her, since you clearly aren’t in the mood to share your conclusions.” Harriet grinned, revealing a chipped tooth she’d probably gotten in a scrap somewhere.

“Well?” said Daisy, raising an eyebrow, although truth be told she wasn’t that curious. She’d taken one look at the new girl and concluded two things. One, that she was gorgeous. Shapely. Not too tall, unlike herself. Lustrous dark hair with what might even be a natural wave - when she’d shaken it out at the end of the shift, Daisy had seen the locks of hair fall as if just arranged, not crushed by the turban in any way. She had dark eyes, a strong jaw that spoke of determination, and a red, lipsticked mouth that seemed to always be smiling, as if she were sharing a private joke.

The other, was that Lou Nixon was rich, spoiled, and didn’t need this job. That was the private joke, that the war was all a game for her.

These two things together made Daisy very wary.

But even so, Lou had been friendly to her. Hadn’t been as snobbish as she’d seemed at first, had seemed to respect her and Mrs Lip and the other girls. Had been kind to Mrs Ramirez and Anna, the black girl, who not everyone had time for. And she seemed like she had a genuine desire to learn, even if she was inefficient as all get-out and constantly asking questions.

First day, after all. You couldn’t expect anything more from someone who’d just filed and written letters before, who’d never had to work with anything more dangerous than words.

Hardly a fair comparison. Words could be very dangerous indeed.

Harriet’s voice cut into her thoughts. “She’s a real princess. Bet she’ll shriek when she breaks her first nail.”

Daisy sighed. “Maybe, but we need all the help we can get.”

The door suddenly opened. Meg, offering a game of rummy, “and a drink of something, but it might just be hot water with wishes in it, can’t promise anything.” Harriet jumped off the bed so fast that she nearly fell on top of Daisy, who managed to roll out of the way just in time.

“Coming?”

“Sure,” Daisy said, putting down her knitting. Rummy with the girls sure beat the evening alone, even if there was part of her that felt shut out of their circle, the part that feared what would happen if they knew.

——————-

Knowledge was dangerous.

It had hit Daisy at fourteen. Maybe a little slow compared to some of the girls, who were giggling and shrieking about boys at the age of twelve. But that was to be expected, they’d been told as much by their mothers and sisters and aunts. She’d had to draw her own conclusions.

It had seemed happy enough at first. Something different, sure, but what was so harmful about those pure, first stirrings of giddiness? Never mind that it wasn’t one of the boys she’d grown up with. Laurence, who was happy to let her ride his pony before she got her own, or Tom, her brother’s friend, who knew how to snare rabbits and made dams in the stream.

Margaret Carmichael. Another Margaret, which made it funnier, although she’d never gone by that name herself, and now she never would.

Margaret didn’t belong in the country. Very much a town girl. Was scared of the cows.

She had a thick blonde plait and dark eyes, and at first hadn’t fit in, until her aptitude for baseball and hockey and skating was discovered, and then she palled around playing games, before school and after. Like Daisy, she had a head for math. Unlike Daisy, she spurned books, which was something hard to understand. Where else did you escape at the end of the day, when it was too dark to play sports, or on days when it was too hot or cold to do much, or when the world outside seemed hopeless?

“I used to read, but it got boring,” Margaret had said one morning. They’d both arrived at school a shade too early, and the teacher hadn’t opened up yet. _How could it get boring?_ Daisy had wanted to say, but instead she said “I can recommend some books if you like.”

“No thank you, but thanks for offering.” Margaret flashed her a grin, and started chatting to her about something she’d heard on the radio, and as she did, Daisy watched her face, her mouth, the bright look in her eyes.

They were so ill-suited, they really were, but something about Margaret…

Couldn’t put her finger on it, until one day she was sitting in the front room crouched in front of the bookshelf, trying to decide which of her mother’s novels she should start on next. Her mother had a love for romance, and had recommended Daisy read an author called Austen. The books seemed to mostly be about people getting married, but they were funny, and sometimes quite mean in a way that made Daisy frown. But so much of love, which was alien to her, unless -

How _did_ she feel about Margaret? Odd. She didn’t like her like a friend, that easy, happy connection you have with your pals, where you can skip rope or chat about anything and everything and nothing. But she didn’t dislike her either. Instead, there was this strange, empty, longing feeling, this pull. A a small trembling bird, fighting in her chest.

She thought about that feeling as she read one of the Austens, how Lizzie seemed to hate Darcy and then didn’t, and how different that was to Bingley, whom she clearly liked but had no pull to. She realised it was love.

_I like you_ , said the note, that Daisy, with trembling hands, had decided to slip into Margaret’s satchel. _From your secret admirer._

It was a silly, girlish thing to do, and even as she wrote it, she knew it, but she couldn’t think of another way to broach the subject. There was nothing wrong with _like_ after all, and they might find a way to be friends with each other, proper friends, who laughed and ran through the fields and went swimming over the summer and took trips into town and got sodas at the drugstore.

The next day, Margaret sat down next to her before class started and gave her a funny, faintly amused look. In her hands was the note.

Daisy’s heart had started to pound horribly. It felt awfully like drowning.

“This is a joke, right?” Margaret’s smile puzzled, but still amused, as if she were trying to see the humour. Daisy realised that Margaret was trying to give her an out. She took it.

“Yes,” she admitted, hating it as she said it. “Yes, it’s a joke.”

Margaret’s smile now showed signs of relief, and her hands were sure as she slipped the note away and said nothing of it again.

Awful. Truly awful.

Daisy picked up her novel, desperately chasing distraction from the leaden terror in her, but at that moment the teacher walked in and chastised her for reading during class time, holding out a hand for the book. “I’ll give it back at the end of class.”

The book sat on Miss Harrison’s desk, and Daisy, who liked Miss Harrison, a young woman from the city who might have looked down on all her shabby rural pupils but didn’t, and had lent Daisy the very novel she’d just taken away, felt her face burn with shame. The chalk squeaked on the board, Johnny was called upon to give an answer and recited it in a faltering, clunky tone, and beside her, Margaret stiffened and seemed to draw away.

“Get away from me, you creep!“

They knew. They’d sniffed it on her, and now Milly, whom she didn’t even like in the faintest, was protesting over her forced proximity in a game of hockey. The other girls swivelled their heads like spooked cattle.

Creep. Dyke. Unnatural. It stuck for a month, until she’d felt forced to deny it, deny, deny, deny, swear otherwise, hope they’d get sick of it, which eventually they did, even though every denial stuck in her mouth and felt like a dirty cheating lie, made it seem like slicing off a part of herself. But the alternative?

Every day, going into school and having the girls shrink from her, the boys making stupid, off-colour jokes. Only Ava stuck with her, Ava with her spectacles and her too-long hair, whom she shared library books with.

“I don’t care if you are,” Ava had said once, “as long as you’re not into _me.”_

And that had had to be enough. 

Daisy filled diaries, even though she had no locked drawer to keep them. Her cramped writing tended to ward off even the nosiest sibling, who could barely read her shopping lists. They weren’t great works of literature, more screeds of self-pity, but she didn’t have a better option.

The funny thing was, she’d never been upset about it. At least not initially - but after the taunting and the jeers and the ugly looks, she felt sick of it, sick of the whole thing. For several months she didn’t even think of girls, didn’t think much further than her novels and her studies and her father’s cows, who continued to follow in the same soothing rhythms, coming down to the gate every morning to be milked, lowing in the dawn.

It was tedious, to be made an outcast. Intolerable to be made to feel so cheap and sordid. Why, some of the things the guys had hissed - 

_I only wanted to kiss her_ , Daisy wrote.

“I’m sorry I thought you were a dyke,” Margaret had said quietly a year later, as they pinned up hopeful paper decorations for their leaving dance.

“That’s alright,” Daisy said, hating Margaret for apologising, and worse, hating herself for accepting it.

Couldn’t move away from that place fast enough.

——————-

_Letter from home. Heard Margaret got married,_ Daisy wrote.

Part of her thought the diaries were too childish. The other part thought they needed to continue, for the war was still on, and ordinary people were called not just to take part, but to observe. She didn’t think of herself as an intrepid participant in counter-espionage, but more as someone called to write things down, so she could open up the books in future years and say _I saw this, I was there._ So much was changing every day that it needed to be documented, even though in practice many of the entries were happy exclamations about finally getting a bit of cheese, or a retelling of a witty joke of Harriet’s.

Still, that was notable too, wasn’t it? Pepys wrote about burying his parmesan in the great fire.

She wondered if she’d ever taste parmesan. Maybe one day she could read up on how to make it, when the milk wasn’t rationed.

However, that wasn’t all that was in the diary. Mentions of Lou had begun to creep in. She’d been working on the floor for a good three months now, and once she’d gotten over the initial fumbling, she’d turned out to be more than capable. It had surprised her. On first glance, the lady was all prettiness and privilege, but it turned out she’d done chemistry at Radcliffe. You could make an argument for her being wasted on the floor.

Lou was fun too. She’d begun to make inroads with Georgie, Harriet and Jo, and Mrs Lip had gotten fond of her, now including her in her oft-used phrase “my girls.” She laughed at Georgie’s impressions, could play the piano, could drink Harriet under the table. It would have been infuriating, her being so seemingly perfect - a sensible worker, a delightful, sparkling friend - if she didn’t come in to work sometimes with black moods, moods she tried her best not to let anyone see.  
Daisy had seen it before. Sometimes girls got like that. Could be a missed period, or one come on too early. Might be the sort of thing men made jokes about - oh those emotional women and their monthlies - but monthlies were crummy things, and more than once Mrs Lip had taken a white-faced, sweating woman off the line and sent her home to bed.

Arguments too. Always put a girl off her work, having a fight with her parents, or with her friends or with her beau, but the girls usually rallied and did their best to cheer up any sad faces.

Either that or the war. It got to all of them sometimes.

Still, tonight, something was on. One of the many little distractions thrown at them to try and make them forget they were making the means to blow young men up, while hoping their own young men wouldn’t fall victim to the same fate. A dance, put on by the women’s association, and by the way the girls on blue were talking, there might even be men there.

I’m not going, Daisy thought. Besides, I haven’t a stitch to wear.

She wrote as such in her diary, only for the door to open as if on cue, Harriet’s bright little face coming into view.

“I’ve come to get you. Drag you away from your memoirs for a moment, because tonight, you are going to get a little blood moving and join us in dancing.”

Daisy snorted. “Not likely.”

Her snort was countered with a scoff. “I’m not going to give up _that_ easily.”

“I can’t dance!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harriet said cheerfully. “We’ll just pair you up with someone just as hopeless as you, and he won’t notice how many times his toes get stepped on.”

Daisy glowered at her, and Harriet closed the door. Well so much for not giving up, Daisy thought, only to hear a whispered conversation punctuated by giggles, and then a knock.

Since when did Harriet _knock?_

“Daisy? You in there?”

Lou? Daisy stuffed the diary under her pillow. “I suppose it’s not worth me pretending that I’m not.”

“No,” came a cheerful reply, and the door swung open.

Lou was still in her coat, purse slung over her shoulder, and clutching some kind of toilet bag.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “It’s time to see some people outside of work.”

“I see you two every day,” Daisy grumbled, “I haven’t forgotten your faces that easily.”

Harriet’s face beamed at her from just behind Lou’s shoulder. “Won’t just be us there, who knows? You might even meet the man of your dreams! Met my Kevin at a dance.”

Lou rolled her eyes slightly, and Daisy surmised that she’d probably heard a good deal about Harriet’s Kevin over the past few weeks. Daisy doubted the man could ever live up to the legend of him, but she was still curious to find out.

“He’s due for leave in a couple of weeks, but until then, I guess I’m going stag,” Harriet said cheerfully. “If I can get you out of this room, that is.”

“I haven’t got anything to wear,” Daisy said again, more for the fun of complaining than because she had any true objection. A dance might be fun, after all, and what with it being run by the women’s association, there wouldn’t be too much drinking. Might be some lemonade for refreshments, maybe some war cake. Her hand was cramping up from writing anyway.

“You can enliven any old frock with a new face,” Lou said, a smile on her glossy red lips. Oh help. “Come on, into the bathroom. I’ll do your makeup.”

It seemed pointless to resist. “Oh alright,” Daisy said, getting to her feet and shaking out pins and needles. Harriet gaped, and clapped Lou on her shoulder, as if to steady herself.

“I’ve never been able to get her painted up!”

Daisy smiled gamely. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Wow! Maybe we’ll even get you to drink something.”

“At a women’s association dance? Not likely.” Lou raised a painterly brow. The two girls hustled Daisy into the bathroom and sat her down on the edge of the bath.

“You’d better not be too long in there,” came Meg’s warning voice from down the hall.

“Don’t sweat it, Daisy won’t need much.” Lou had dragged in a chair and was now sitting eye level with Daisy, appraising her face. “I might not have the right colours for you, come to think of it.”

“You could borrow some of mine - only I don’t have much.” Harriet had left the bathroom, and was calling from her room across the corridor. She came out, dress half-unbuttoned. “Down to my last half-tube of lipstick.”

Lou took the lipstick and handed it back immediately, shaking her head.

“No!?” Harriet sounded a little cranky.

Lou smiled at her.

“I’ve a few different shades, we’ll make it work. Don’t want to use up all of yours.”

“Well, if you say so.” She sighed. “Lou, you look like you’re all set to go out already, so I might leave you to it. We can’t both perform our magic on Daisy at the same time anyway, she’s only got one face!”

“Leave it to me,” Lou said, and Harriet bustled into her own room again, this time closing the door behind her.

The bathroom was a little too gloomy for either of them to see much, so Daisy indicated the light switch, and clutched at the edge of the bath as the yellow glow filled the room. “Right,” said Lou, sitting down again, pulling the chair in, the scrape of its uneven legs loud against the tiled floor. She turned her eyes to Daisy’s face, and Daisy dipped her gaze and let herself be scrutinised, only for her to feel a hand on her shoulder, and Lou’s voice, mellow and nearly in her ear, saying “You need to look at me.” So she did. Gazed right into her rich, brown eyes, observed the shadow her nose cast on her cheek, how her lower lip was full, and tried not to think too hard about how pretty she was, for that wouldn’t do.

This wasn’t so bad when Lou took out something from the toilet bag - powder - and began to powder her face. At least for this Daisy could close her eyes and pretend her discomfort was due to the powder making her sneeze. But the whole thing became a lot harder when Lou put up her left hand, and gently took hold of her jaw.

If her breath quickened a little, Lou didn’t think of it. Just kept on holding her face steady, her right hand fishing for more cosmetics, and proceeded to dab colour on her eyelids, murmuring all the while. The soft sound of her voice made Daisy’s head hum pleasantly, like angels were stroking it.

“Might be a little too dark for you, but I think taupe will look alright, yes, now look down, come on, keep your eyes closed - ok. That’s done. Now - pink or red? Has to be red. That’s good. Did anyone tell you you have the loveliest blue eyes? They’re like Lake Louise. Oh, I sound an awful flatterer but it’s true.”

Her face was all very close now, calm, concentrating, as she put the tube of lipstick to Daisy’s mouth - her hand, near her mouth, oh god, why had she agreed to this? Lou’s eyes looked very dark in this particular light, and her mouth was very slightly open.

“Red _was_ the better choice!” A pleased tone to her voice. “Mascara now. Oh, I know I do it out of order but it’s always easier to put little bits on at a time rather than make up one full eye and think “oh, too much,” and have to take it off, don’t you think?”

Daisy mumbled something vaguely affirmative, although she’d never thought as much. No older sisters and a mother who wasn’t one for makeup hadn’t left her with much knowledge on the subject. She winced suddenly, for Lou was advancing on her eye with a tiny brush.

“Eyes open!” It was a command, and Daisy tried her best to obey, although she wanted so very badly to flinch.

“How does anyone manage this?”

“Oh, you get used to it.” Lou’s left hand had moved to the back of her head now, which felt far too intimate for Daisy’s liking. Her right, doing the dreaded mascara, brushed lightly against Daisy’s cheek. She hardly dared to breathe.

“There! All done,” came the exclamation, and Lou scraped the chair back, stood up and pulled Daisy up from the edge of the bath, which was just as well as her behind had gone somewhat numb and her legs didn’t seem to be working that well.

Before her, in the mirror, stood two women. Lou, looking as bright and lovely as before, her hair in her victory rolls, lips and eyes shining, and beside her, a different version of herself. Her eyelashes, normally pale, were dark, making her eyes look large and strange, and her mouth was crimson. Something about the eye makeup changed the way her whole face looked, as if she’d been transformed from a skinny freckled redhead into -

“A regular Rita Hayworth,” said Lou proudly, her hand on Daisy’s shoulder. She called for Harriet, who emerged from her room suddenly and gave a low whistle.

“Who’s this knockout and what have you done with our Daisy?” Harriet said to Lou. “What kind of magic stuff you got in that bag?” She walked over to the vanity and began rummaging through Lou’s makeup, making exclamations about the cost, and the scarcity, and how some girls are having to make do with beet juice.

“Oh, it didn’t take much,” said Lou modestly.

“What are we gonna do about her hair, then?” Harriet added.

“I can do my own hair!” Daisy protested, although the hairstyles she’d perfected were for her old face, not this new one. But Lou’s hand, now running through her hair, and Harriet’s rather wicked look - well, turns out she wasn’t going to get out of that one easily.

Sure was nice to be touched though.

————————

“Just as I thought,” grumbled Georgie the minute they walked in the door. “All those tittering rumours about men and they barely manage to scrounge up one and a half of them!”

The men in question were standing on the edges of the room as if gun-shy. Not quite one and a half, but certainly no more than a handful, and one of them was sitting down, his leg in plaster. Lou supposed that one had to be the half.

But it wasn’t all a poor show. The women’s association had decorated the place, and from the bustle in the hall kitchen, they’d also planned a supper. They had a band, Lou was surprised to note, noting with further surprise that the band was actually good. A singer too. Lovely voice.

“How about we start with stepping out of the doorway?” Harriet said pointedly. Lou looked around met with the glowering face of a girl she didn’t know terribly well, who’d obviously been stuck behind them.

“That’d be good,” the girl grumbled. “For a start.”

“Sorry, Donna,” Daisy said, and the other girl sidled past her and grinned, the inconvenience forgotten.

“Wow, who managed to get Daisy to leave her room?” Donna was wearing a dress in a grey patriotic print. It appeared to have little spitfires all over it, although Lou couldn’t swear on the make of plane, what with the design being rendered in simple colours and the light in the building softened, as if to give the air a romantic atmosphere. For whom, she wondered. The one and a half men? None of them had yet walked or hopped on to the dance floor, and the band had already started playing something lively.

Daisy stammered and Donna elbowed her. “Well, looks like tonight I don’t get to coast on the novelty of being the only redhead in the room.”

“You’re in trouble,” Harriet said. “Lou got out the fancy paints and turned Daisy into a film star. We’ll have to send out pin-ups.”

Daisy’s face now glowed as if she were on fire. “I might just make a round of the room if that’s alright,” she said, in a voice that managed to be even. “Say hello to some of the girls.” Before Lou or Harriet could stop her, Daisy had walked off and was peering through the serving window, apparently already deep in conversation with the women there.

“Oh hell, she going to be talking to Mrs Lip all night?” Harriet said, frowning a little. “Lou, you and I have _got_ to get that girl into higher spirits.”

“Speaking of spirits,” Lou said, “I might be able to help you with that.”

“Oh?” Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Thought this was a dry event. Women’s association are terribly concerned with our morals. They’re hardly going to offer anything stronger than hot cider.”

Lou slipped a hand into her coat pocket and briefly drew out her flask, enough so that Harriet could see the metal flash of the cap. She let out a satisfied “ha!” and squeezed Lou by the arm. “Well, now _that’s_ a party! And knowing you, it might even be good stuff.”

“Drinks first, or dancing?” Lou asked, walking over to the refreshments. A slight girl who didn’t look much more than fifteen was putting out jugs of something that smelled relatively spicy. Some kind of cider; thank god apples weren’t rationed yet. She poured two cups, and while Harriet nattered to the girl, slipped in something extra.

“You’re a pal,” Harriet said, taking the cup and giving Lou a wink.

They sipped their cups and watched Daisy leave off talking to the women in the kitchen and start making her way round the room, stopping in at little groups of girls, saying hello, moving on. She walked over to the man with the busted leg and sat with him, and the two seemed to fall into conversation.

Lou found an empty chair and put her coat down, and Harriet, with a nod, said “good idea,” and plonked hers on top, where it fell haphazardly, exposing a patched lining.

“Thought about keeping it unstitched so I can put things in there.” Harriet took a swig of cider. “But it turns out that’s just something from spy novels. In real life it just keeps flapping around and goes all twisted when you try and put your coat on.” She shrugged. “Besides, what the hell am I gonna hide anyway?”

“Bomb parts?” said Lou, raising her eyebrow.

“Keep your voice down,” said Harriet, and only seemed to be half joking.

“Be back in a minute,” said Lou, passing Harriet her cup. She walked over to Daisy, and sat down next to her. She didn’t seem particularly in her element, and was jiggling a leg up and down completely out of time to the music. Less rhythm, more nerves.

“This is Reggie,” she said, gesturing to the chap next to her. Army uniform, looked like he’d got some kind of direct hit. He had a pleasant enough face, jug-eared but good natured.

“How’d you do?” the fellow said in an accent straight from the Halifax docks. Well, what was left of them, thought Lou grimly. Sure, he’d be too young to remember the explosion, but better not tell him what they did for a living in case he jumped out of his skin.

“Hello Reggie,” Lou said. “Would you mind if I took Daisy dancing?”

The guy raised his eyebrow, and Lou noticed a faint bruise on the side of his face. “Be my guest. Not as if I’ve got much of a hope of doing it myself.”

“Lou,” Daisy said, those blue eyes rather large in her face. “I wasn’t making excuses before. I _can’t dance._ ”

“Not like I care,” Lou said, giving her what she hoped would be a winning smile.

“Got about ten left feet.”

“Oh well, suit yourself.” She patted Daisy on the shoulder and walked back to Harriet, who’d finished her mug of doctored cider and was looking thoughtfully at Lou’s, as if wondering what would happen if she drunk it. “Harriet Walsh, don’t you dare,” Lou said, by way of greeting.

“And the same to you!” Harriet handed the cup back and Lou drained it, and put both cups on the windowsill. “So.” Harriet’s eyes were narrowed slightly. “I gather Daisy didn’t want a turn about the floor? Shame. Was just about to get out there myself.”

“Maybe we can show her how it’s done.” Lou grinned, and Harriet returned it.

“You want to be the lady or the man?”

“Oh, I don’t much care,” Lou said loftily, and took Harriet’s hand, which was small and warm and a little raspy feeling, as if she spent a lot of time washing dishes. Maybe she did.

“I’d better be the lady,” Harriet said, as they walked out on the floor just as the next song started. “Otherwise I might get out of practice and my Kevin won’t know what to do with his arms when we’re foxtrotting.”

It was a lively number and the two rapidly lost themselves in the pleasure of dancing, Lou steering Harriet round the floor, doing some spins. Harriet grinned and giggled, let Lou dip her, and kicked out her legs as if she was trying to light the floor on fire, and Lou wondered if she’d be able to do a lift. Harriet certainly seemed light enough. The floor was full, with the few men available rapidly pressed into service, and a few other girls making couples. Georgie and Jo seemed to be having a lot of fun. It was easier when one of the gals was taller than the other, then you could pick who was playing the part of fellow, and tall, dark Jo was spinning around Georgie in a way that was bound to make both of them dizzy. Donna, meanwhile, tucked against the chest of one of the guys, red hair blazing against khaki, that spitfire dress whirling out behind her, Mrs Lip even on the floor with an older gent (what was he doing here? No mind.)

On her third turn around the floor, Lou suddenly realised she’d forgotten about Daisy, and looked over to see if she could find that telltale flash of red. Sure was easier to spot than that tired dress in laundry blue. Maybe she should offer Daisy one of her own dresses, maybe something in green - that’d look nice with the hair, although it was likely she’d be too proud to take it.

There she was! Over by the supper table, looking decidedly out of her depth. She wasn’t looking at the floor, just staring into her cup as if telling fortunes.

“Daisy!” called Lou, just as the song began to wind down. Startled, the girl looked up, saw Harriet and Lou still locked together mid-spin. Her face cracked into a smile.

“Christ, I’m out of breath!” Harriet puffed, as the two left the floor.

“I could go again,” Lou said. The next song was slower. “You think Daisy will want to have a go now?”

“Well, you could try,” said Harriet doubtfully. “I’ll see if I can bully her into it.” She raised her chin and walked right up to her friend. “Shame to waste all of Lou’s hard work on being a wallflower.”

“You’re a piece of work, Harriet,” Daisy said, and then yelped as Harriet pulled her into a hug.

“Come on you, Lou’s going to take charge. Dance!”

“You sure?” Oh heaven, the girl looked so doubtful. “I didn’t take lessons or anything…”

“You think I took lessons?” Harriet countered, but Lou decided it would be better with a different approach. She adopted an encouraging tone.

“Come on, it’ll be fine!” Lou reached out a hand, but Daisy seemed to only now realise she was still holding a cup, and looked at it helplessly as though it was some Sisyphean burden she didn’t know how to deal with.

“Give it here,” Harriet growled, snatching the cup. She gave Daisy a little push on the shoulder. “Go!”

Daisy felt stiff and nervous in her arms, but when she put her hand up, the redhead took it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be the man,” she said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Did a lot of dancing at Radcliffe, and I was much in demand as the fellow.”

Was that too much of a hint? God, might as well say “at my time at Radcliffe I acted the man in more ways than one” and let her eyes travel up and down Daisy’s slender frame. But if Daisy twigged that anything was up, she didn’t show it on her face, just gave a small tight smile. “You look scared,” Lou observed baldly.

“Don’t want to step on your toes.”

“Worse things have happened.”

It was good music, good to dance to, even if one song bled into another and all the words sounded samey - love, my love, my baby, can’t help loving that man, all that kind of mush that sounds pretty when it’s sung by a looker who can hold a tune. She pulled Daisy into her arms, ignoring the little gasp of surprise, and began to move her about the floor.

She wasn’t lying. Daisy Winters turned out to be an awful dancer. It was like foxtrotting with a sheep. Instructions were necessary, and guiding. Firm hand on the hip, yes, keep time, listen to the bass - the low notes, just follow me, Ok? We won’t do anything flash.

The song only lasted a few minutes, but in that time she’d managed to press Daisy into some form of shape, and the girl had started to enjoy herself, going by the pink underneath the powder and that smile. Oh, it was a lovely smile, Lou thought, as the singer struck a final note and the song gracefully came to end.

“Another go?”

“Sure,” Daisy said. “If you like.”

The next song was in waltz time, and considerably slower. She drew Daisy a little closer towards her, wrapped her arm tighter around her back. “Lean into me, that’s good.” It was different dancing with someone taller than her, while leading, but after a bit of practice they seemed to fit together alright. That lean back seemed to lose its stiffness, and Daisy’s head dropped a little to Lou’s shoulder. Would have been better if she could rest her cheek against it, but that wasn’t going to work, what with the height difference and all, but it felt nice having her cheek against her ear, even if her chin was digging a little.

Without thinking much of it, her hand went a little higher, and touched the ends of Daisy’s hair. Felt a little like the girl was melting into her, and it was a lovely feeling. Sweet.

The song ended and she reluctantly eased her hold and looked at her partner. Daisy had a faraway look in her eyes, and one of her hairpins had slipped, causing a lock of russet to tumble down her face.

“Here, let me -“ Lou made to fix the hair, only for Daisy to suddenly lock eyes on her, and just as suddenly, snap her eyes away. Then, an awful flush, which Lou could see on her neck, because it had seemed wrong to powder that far down. “You Ok?”

Daisy broke free of the hold, and turned, making a beeline for the edge of the dance floor.

“I’m just - I need to get some air.”

Then, she was hurrying towards the door, and Lou, disappointed, could only follow her with her eyes, and wonder what went wrong.

Damn it. Lou grabbed her coat and gloves - like hell was she going to wander off into the dark envelope of an October night unprepared. After a moment’s pause she grabbed Daisy’s coat too - an unfashionable navy thing that looked like a man’s coat, reshaped. She might not thank Lou for mothering her, but it wouldn’t do to let the girl freeze.

“You heading off?” Harriet was currently surveying the selection of refreshments on offer. Rather too many date slices for Lou’s liking. No butter, no milk, no eggs, no problem, just replace everything with dates! And lard.

“No, I’m just going to check on Daisy. She, er, ran off.”

“Oh,” Harriet stuffed a date slice into her mouth and chewed ravenously. “What’d you do to scare her?”

Lou shrugged and headed outside. At first she couldn’t see her. There were a few people milling about, a few couples giggling and walking into bushes and behind buildings. No prizes for what they were up to. The air had a cold bite to it, and Lou was glad of her gloves, which were leather lined in lambswool, in a rather fetching shade of bottle green. The thumb was torn slightly but with luck they’d see her out the rest of the war, although god knows how long that was going to be.

Lou pulled her coat tighter and walked around the side of the hall. Daisy was perched on the step, just in front of an anonymous-looking side door. She was a little hunched against the cold, arms drawn up around her chest.

“Bought your coat,” Lou said, by way of greeting.

“Thanks,” Daisy replied thinly, but she let Lou drape it around her shoulders, and didn’t move when Lou sat beside her. The brick step was cold, even through her coat.

A cold, biting wind started up, and Daisy turned her face towards it, her eyes bright as a sighthound who’s just scented something.

“Damned cold,” Lou shivered. “Why are we out here again?”

If Daisy heard that, she chose to ignore it. “There’s ice in that wind. Blowing straight off the prairie.”

Her ears and cheeks were pink, and she might have been hunched, but she no longer seemed stiff, as if sitting out here in the cold October air was worth a thousand dances.

“Is that where you’re from?” Lou pictured the prairie, rolling waves of those high grasses, thin, lonely houses, howling winds, herds of - they had pronghorn out there, right?

Daisy nodded. “We’ve a farm - dairy.”

“Who’s at home?” Lou asked, wondering if she could tease free a little information. Or maybe it would just help to get her talking.

“My Mom and Pa, now. Oh, and my brother Eddie. Sandy’s somewhere out there in Europe, but we get his letters. Even if he can’t say where he is in them.”

“So, what made you come out here then?” Lou asked. “Don’t they want you on the farm?”

“Oh, they can always use the help,” Daisy replied, “and for a while, it was just me there, but Eddie got invalided out. He’s lost an arm, but he can still do the milking. So, I moved out here. Saw the ad in the paper for the job, and knew I’d regret it if I didn’t take it.” She let out a little breath, which puffed away in misty whiteness. “I wanted to help.”

“Milking’s still helping,” Lou said, although it wasn’t as if she wanted to persuade Daisy to pack up and go home, back to a lonely friendless part of the country, no one for company but cows.

“Well, yes, but…” A deep sigh, this time. Lou tried to catch her eye, but Daisy was resolutely peering straight ahead, and ducked her gaze. “Well, let’s just say, I was happy to get away.”

“The cows?”

Munitions might not be the safest job but at least it wasn’t so mucky. Lou knew what she’d prefer.

Daisy let out a little laugh. “No, not the cows. The people.”

“Oh?” Lou decided to risk patting her on the shoulder, and was gratified to note that she didn’t pull away. That was something.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends out there.” Daisy said in a quiet, reluctant voice. “Not a lot to leave behind.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Too bad,” Daisy agreed. “Anyway, it’s better out here. People are a little more prepared to show a friendly face.”

“You miss it?” Lou felt it was probably time to take her hand off Daisy’s shoulder, but couldn’t bring herself to. She was probably too cold to notice.

“Miss what?”

“The prairie.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” A wistful little smile, that made Lou feel some sort of pang. “And you’ll laugh, but I miss the cows.”

“What it’s like, then? The cows?” Oh christ, why was she asking about cattle? Might start the girl off on a long farmer’s almanac recitation about the farming calendar and the rhythms of the land, or maybe it’d just be a list of names of every dang cow in the herd, but then again, that might be nice to hear Daisy just…talk, for a little bit, never mind what about, and god knows she blathered a lot herself, might as well let someone else do it. Hear something someone else was passionate about.  
Passion was embarrassing, Lou had been told - keep it light, keep it fun, don’t ramble on so much. For heaven’s sake, don’t give anybody a screed, whether it’s about politics or the welfare of the poor or what you’re studying, just - let the men talk and respond, Louisa. They don’t want someone to make jokes, they want someone who laughs at theirs. Keep on like that and you’ll never find someone worthy, you’ll have to settle for someone cheap who hasn’t noticed how uncouth you are. Heavens! Show a little respect.

“You want to hear me talk about cows?” Daisy’s voice was touched with incredulity, but she smiled, and this time it wasn’t wistful, just happy. Bless her and keep her, she’d listen to the girl go on about livestock all night if it put her in a good mood.

“Yes,” said Lou. “Despite myself, I want to hear about cows.”

“You don’t seem like someone who’s had much to do with cattle.”

“Nothing further than picking up a milk bottle,” Lou was finally able to catch Daisy’s eye, when the girl turned her face towards her, and she smiled.

“Well, they’re sort of, dependable, I suppose. They have their rhythms and you follow them. And when it’s cold out, they’re warm - better than a hot water bottle.”

To Lou they sounded like a bunch of perambulating hot bricks, but given Daisy’s expression, they might have been adorable puppies.

“So what’s it like doing the milking? A lot of yelling and kicking cows into line?”

Daisy’s next misty breath was a puff of laughter. “No kicking.”

“No? I would have thought it’d be like horses. So busy eating that you have to give them a shove to make them budge.”

“No, you have to be steady.” As steady as her voice in that cold air, Lou thought. She’d noticed a shiver breaking into her own words, but Daisy sounded calm and clear. “The cows need to feel content and comfortable, or they won’t let down their milk.”

“And how do you milk them?”

“Well,” said Daisy, suddenly yawning a little as if the evening were catching up with her. “We’ve got milking machines now, so we just clean the cows and then we attach those, twice a day, but when I was a kid we did it by hand. Grandpa owned the farm then and he didn’t trust the machines - some of the earlier ones were too rough and he didn’t want to take the risk and try them on the cows. So, we all milked as soon as we were old enough.”

“Is it hard work? Milking by hand?” She shifted a little on the step, trying to get a bit of feeling back in her legs. Christ, it was cold, but talking about cattle really did seem to make Daisy open up like her namesake flower, so it was worth persisting.

“Oh, it’s a fair bit of work, but sometimes I miss it. It’s less noisy. You can sit there and hear your own thoughts, rest your head against the cow’s side, talk to her…” She flushed suddenly. “Listen to me going on like this! I bet you think I’m completely mad.”

“No, the way you talk about it, it sounds oddly pleasant.”

“It’s not all pleasantries,” Daisy grinned a little. “But I won’t scare you off.”

The meaning of this caught at Lou suddenly. Despite her suddenly rushing off like that, Daisy didn’t want her gone. Maybe it was just dancing she hated. Scared of being humiliated, perhaps. Lou had certainly met more than one fellow who was so self-conscious on the dance floor that he made a big show of disdaining dance entirely. Better to reject it entirely than reveal yourself as less than perfect, and Daisy seemed so damned capable at just about everything that maybe she couldn’t handle anything else. But Lou felt that bringing this up would make Daisy shrink, so she kept the subject as it was. Cattle.

“How do you do it anyway? Milking?”

Daisy flushed pink again, and then seemed to compose herself. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just - it’s better if I show you.”

Alright then. Lou passed over her gloved hand, and Daisy took it gently, a mirror of their dance, and then, started murmuring. It was rather like what she had done herself while doing Daisy’s makeup - talking to yourself, mostly, but knowing that your words would wash over the other person and…what? Soothe them? Help them forget you were there?

“You take hold like this and then pull your fingers down in a firm, even pressure,” Daisy was murmuring, as she wrapped her hand loosely around Lou’s index and middle finger and squeezed from the base of the digits downwards. It was a strange sensation. Lightly ticklish, but also firm. Daisy did it again, her cold hands running over gloved fingers, and Lou looked up and met her eyes, her smile, met it with a slight giggle, for the feeling of finger-squeezing was strange and intimate and a little silly, and it made Lou want to be a cow, which was something she’d never thought she’d think, and oh, look at this funny, unusual, wondrous woman before her, look at her. She wasn’t flattering, those blue eyes really did look like a clear mountain lake, and the hair, oh, the hair, it was as luxurious as the pelt of a fox, and even the cheapness of the dress couldn’t diminish the loveliness of this thoughtful girl.

Lou took the moment, and while Daisy’s hand was still on hers, she leaned over and kissed her.

At first all she felt was cold, for the mouth against her was cool, and the nose brushing her cheek icy, but then a little heat as Daisy opened her mouth - in surprise, maybe - but opened nevertheless, and kissed back. Tentatively at first, then clumsily, but with a need to it. Oh, Daisy. Oh, take my hand and keep it there. Lou kissed a little more, hearing her own breath loud in her ears, and opened her eyes to see that Daisy’s were closed, painted lashes dark against her fair cheek. She squeezed the hand, still on her knee, and then all of a sudden the kiss was broken by the other girl pulling back as if stung.

“Daisy?”

The moment was gone, and Lou was unsure if she could save it. She looked around to see if they’d been spotted. Perhaps that was the cause of Daisy’s distress - but from the looks of it, they were the only ones fool enough to linger in that wind.

Nerves, perhaps. The way she kissed, it might have been her first. She put her hand on Daisy’s forearm, but was shrugged off. Daisy still had her eyes closed and was breathing heavily, as if she’d been struck.

“Don’t.” Her expression was coloured with pain.

Lou kept her voice low, aiming for enticing. A little nerves could be overcome, and perhaps it was just the cold.

“It’s just a bit of fun.” This part, with a little brightness, aiming to make the kiss and anything subsequent sound like a Saturday treat, but Daisy didn’t respond, just remained as still and white as wax.

Lou tried again, in that same low, enticing tone. “I can make you feel good.”

This was a line that had worked before on multiple Radcliffe girls. Hesitation at first, that was to be expected, but this exclamation, plus the corresponding assurance that it would mean nothing, had caused more than one young lady to peer coyly back at Lou, murmur “oh, alright,” and let her pet them and kiss them.  
But as soon as the words had escaped her mouth, Lou realised abruptly that she couldn’t have chosen a worse thing to say. Daisy’s eyes snapped open, to stare at Lou with what looked like tears glistening in her eyes.

“Daisy, I -“

“I _can’t._ ”  
Before she could try another attempt at salvage, Daisy hurried to her feet and started towards the road in fast, determined strides, and while the wind whisked the sound away like a thief, she could tell from the way that Daisy lifted a hand to her face, shoulders shaking, that the girl was crying.

Lou wrapped her arms around her knees and breathed for a moment. She tried the door behind her but it was locked. Pounded her fist against it and felt pain spike in her knuckles, but no one came because the rumble of voices, the sound of music, the wind, together they were loud enough to drown out any sob, any desperate beating of a wounded heart. It was all too loud.

——————-

The next morning she woke up feeling hot and stupid and more than a little hungover. She’d emptied the flask on the way home, and followed it up with a third of a bottle of rather inferior cognac, which had been the only thing she knew her father wouldn’t miss.

“Oh _get_ up,” came the sour tones of her mother in the doorway. “You might well want to spend the evening making a fool of yourself, but in case you’ve forgotten, we have a luncheon today for the war effort, and I expect to see _both_ of my daughters there, not just Blanche.”

Behind her, the face of the aforementioned Blanche. Gawping, she expected. Lou would wonder if she’d ever seen a hungover person before, but it wasn’t an uncommon state for her father to be in.

The hangover certainly hadn’t improved the expression on her mother’s face. “The day won’t improve with you feeling sorry for yourself.”

The luncheon was, as expected, dire. She managed to keep the mood as light as possible, but couldn’t handle much more than nibbling at the crustless sandwiches, holding back nausea. From the looks some of the ladies flashed about the room, Lou wondered if they suspected pregnancy. Oh, they’d gloat then - Louisa Nixon’s war baby, or more likely, Louisa Nixon’s stay with an aunt in California that went on for a suspiciously long time. Or Louisa Nixon’s abortion, costly enough to be safe, but never to be spoken of by anyone. She thought about the diaphragm fitting she’d had, the Radcliffe girls, and wanted to laugh.

What a joke, the whole damned thing. She knew that the women were technically doing _something_ , but it seemed so flimsy when the war seemed a giant furnace consuming all the fuel people desperately pumped into it.

Monday wasn’t much better. Daisy wouldn’t meet her eye, and maintained a stiff-necked professionalism throughout the whole day that was somehow worse than outright hostility. Lou was almost glad when Harriet muscled up to her immediately after the bell rang for the end of shift, looking so livid that Lou fully expected to be grabbed by the collar and hauled into the nearest corner for a thrashing.

“Harriet! Nice to see you too,” Lou said, the minute she was released. Harriet’s glower was so fierce she was surprised she hadn’t been singed from it. “You want to tell me what this is about?”

“No, _you_ better be the one doing the telling!” Harriet was as snappy as a terrier. “You mind letting me know what you said to Daisy?”

Lou shrugged and managed to keep her face blank, but inside her heart took a great, horrible leap. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask her.”

Wrong answer, going by the look on Harriet’s face. “I’m sure you think you’re something special, Miss Radcliffe. I don’t know what you’ve done, but anyone who sends my friend home in tears deserves a punch in the mouth.”

Oh Jesus. This wasn’t going to be fun, especially since Harriet was smaller and it seemed frankly undignified to sock a shorter lady in the face. But explaining what exactly had transpired was going to be worse - and if Daisy hadn’t mentioned it -

Well. She supposed she should be glad. The girl might have gone home crying, but she hadn’t blabbed. Lou was confident she could laugh off any rumours, or rise above them if she had to, but it was still a tedious and stressful thing to have to go through, and thus far she’d managed to keep the whole thing under wraps until it was someone’s business to know.

Harriet was a more immediate problem, but a smaller one, now pacing around Lou’s heels looking every inch a restless pugilist.

“Well, I’m really not sure what I did, but I’m sorry all the same,” Lou said, spreading her hands in what she hoped would be a gesture of goodwill. “I’ll make it up to her.”

“You’d better. Or at least apologise - I don’t give a rat’s ass either way - but if you make her cry again, make no mistake - I _will_ fight you.” With that, the smaller woman stomped off. Damn it. She’d considered Harriet a friend too, but now she’d managed to make both of them mad. She had an awful feeling she wasn’t going to get out of this one with flattery and gifts. This was going to take a lot of apologising, of the deep, contrite, seek-forgiveness kind. As a Nixon she’d been coached in a lot of things, but sincere apologies weren’t one of them. Just have to do this one unpracticed and hope it didn’t end with a black eye, or worse, the loss of all her friendships.

Flowers were a good start - but flowers in October?

She stopped by Blanche’s room that evening, catching her sister in the middle of studying.

“What?” An irritated frown, directed not so much at Lou as at the textbook.

“Blanche,” Lou started. “If I had a fight with someone, what kind of flowers should I give them to make up for it?”

“Oh, what the hell do I know? Just sweet talk your way out of it. You always do.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work here.” She grimaced, and plonked herself down on Blanche’s bed. “The wronged party is too…forthright.”

“What’d you do?” Blanche smirked. “You turn down someone’s marriage proposal after he already bought you a giant engagement ring or something?”

“Not exactly.”

“You slept with your friend’s sweetheart?”

Christ, how did she cook these things up? “No! Christ, it’s just - well, a friend and I had an argument.”

“What, and you expect me to know what the hell to do? You’re the older one.”

“True, but I’m also the worse one. I’m sure half of what mother says to you is “don’t turn out like your older sister.”

“Ah, I see you’ve overheard her.” Blanche’s frown was, at the very least, apologetic.

“Don’t really have to, she says it in front of me. She’ll never recover from me leaving Radcliffe early. God, if I have to hear _one more thing_ about it being her alma mater -”

Blanche rolled her eyes. “She’ll get over it. Doesn’t she know there’s a war on?”

“Well, what should I do?”

“I don’t know! If you have to do flowers, pick them, don’t buy them. It’s more - honest. Money doesn’t mean a thing for you, whereas time, that’s more of a gesture. But words are going to be better in any case. Just, for the love of God, be sincere! Don’t make any jokes, keep your eyebrows level, don’t raise them all over the place like a hack vaudeville comic.” She gave Lou an irritated look and sighed. “Look, you’ll be alright. People always forgive you in the end anyway.”

“Thanks Blanche,” Lou said, impulsively leaning forward and pulling her sister into a hug. Blanche yelped and nearly fell off the chair, but she looked almost pleased.

“That’s alright. Now get out, I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

“You want me to help?” Lou looked over at the textbook. It was a while since she’d done calculus but it had always been one of her better subjects. It was also a while since she’d checked in on Blanche. She hoped her sister was doing alright. It was often hard to tell when you were that age, you wanted to keep everything to yourself.

“If you’re not too busy,” Blanche said, a little doubtfully.

“No, evening’s free,” said Lou, and dragged over a chair.

—————-

She ended up not going with flowers, knowing Daisy would see right through the gesture. But as she stood at the door of the boarding house, she hesitated before knocking. Maybe flowers would have been better, might have delighted her. Being given flowers, something that was old hat to Lou, would probably be a first for this prairie girl. But the decision had been made by the season, for unless she gave a bouquet of toadstools, picking anything from a park or even snatching anything hanging over the fence of someone’s garden wasn’t going to bear much fruit. Or flowers, as the case may be. Damn it. Chin up and face it, she told herself, and rapped on the door.

It was that girl Meg who answered, and her eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

“Hello, Meg.”

Meg didn’t bother to ask Lou any questions, just shifted sideways in the doorway to let her pass. As it was, the hallway was narrow enough that a wrong move might send their bodies colliding, and Lou’s steadying hand would inevitably end up on Meg’s bosom. Now that’d be a nice situation, thought Lou wryly. As she edged past her, Meg glared up at Lou’s face, her hazel eyes daggers.

“Just to warn you, you’re not very popular right now.”

“Noted,” Lou replied, and then continued down the shabby hallway, past the hatstand, past a console table littered with post, past the black lacquered telephone stuck to the wall like a gluey piece of liquorice. Right to the anonymous door sitting blankly next to its three fellow doors, one of which was probably a broom closet, one of which led to angry Harriet, and one of which was Daisy’s room. She’d knocked before, and now she knocked again.

“Yes?” The voice inside was guarded.

“Daisy, it’s Lou.”

Silence, but before she could take that as a sign she wasn’t welcome, the door flung open and there was the redhead before her, trying to look aloof but failing.

“What do you want?” Her tone was wary, guarded. She looked drawn. Tired, perhaps. Fair, reddish lashes, a few freckles on her pale cheek. Her eyes were a little red-rimmed but still the same striking colour, unfathomable sea blue.

“About the other night -“

She took a sharp breath. “Lou, don’t.”

Lou continued. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Oh. Well, alright. Apology accepted.” Daisy was clearly aiming for a bland tone, but there was a tremble in it, and she wouldn’t quite look Lou in the eye.

“Would you perhaps like to join me in a walk?”

Daisy smiled thinly, but nodded. “Well, alright then.”

The weather was cool but clear, and there was even the slight suggestion of sun, thin and milky though it was. Lou let Daisy take her in a turn about the park, past a statue of Queen Victoria, her dour bronze visage looking over the city as if she couldn’t believe she’d been dumped there. The same expression of all the Vic statues in every colony in the world, Lou thought, imagining the same orb-and-sceptred disapproval in India, in New Zealand, maybe tucked away in some corner of South Africa. Any one of the pink bits. And England? They’d probably run out of spaces to put them. Say, wasn’t there something they said about Queen Victoria? That she signed laws against men having sex, but when it came to women, she hadn’t been able to conceive of how it would even be possible. So no law there. Lou thought about sharing this anecdote, but decided that given the circumstances, it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“You seem awfully interested in that statue,” Daisy said. Lou shrugged.

They left Vic behind and turned past the cenotaph, which they both tried their best not to look at.

She suddenly became aware of Daisy trying to catch her eye. “Let me guess, you don’t like thinking about it.”

“Well no, not when it ended so badly.” She snorted. “It’s not like this one though. In that one, I feel like we were only fighting because of _her.”_ Lou stabbed a finger back at Victoria.

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “She died in 1901. If you want to blame the monarchy, you want King George.”

Lou shrugged again. “Same damned thing, just different outfits.”

It was a stupid point, but Daisy didn’t argue with it, just kept walking steadily, her cheap shoes crunching on the gravel path. She touched Lou lightly on the arm, and Lou turned.

“Did your father go?”

“No. Just made a lot of money off it.” The sentence hung in the air distastefully, like a bad smell.

They passed a green-painted bench, and Daisy sat down. It didn’t seem right to sit beside her for a tete-a-tete, so Lou remained standing, wishing she had something to do with her hands.

“Lou,” said Daisy eventually, her pale eyebrows drawn into a frown. “I get the sense you don’t take any of this very seriously.”

“Meaning?”

“The war, Lou.” Daisy had the same forced patience as a parent explaining something to a fractious child. “It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

“What? No! I’m - god, I don’t know what I have to do to convince all of you I’m not just larking about, but I mean - I could have stayed in the office painting my nails between forms, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t be much of a thing to natter about to your pals on the phone, would it? I bet you don’t even have a party line. I bet you can talk as long as you want.”

“Alright. Look. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being rich. Sorry for turning up at your precious factory and trying to actually do something real. I don’t even _know_ what you want me to say!”

“Lou - “

“Do _you_ even know what you want me to say?” Lou glared at Daisy, who was now colouring with anger. It was a shade that would have been pretty on roses, but on a girl’s face, it looked like something you could strike a match on.

The redhead was frozen for what seemed like minutes, her jaw tight, staring very hard at the cenotaph. Then finally, in a small, reluctant voice - 

“No. I don’t. But I don’t know what you want from me either.”

Lou raised an eyebrow, and decided it was worth plonking herself down beside her. She tried not to think about the way their thighs touched, the way the flap of her coat had flipped over onto Daisy’s lap, nearly covering her neatly folded hands.

“Huh,” Lou said quietly, attempting to take as much interest in the cenotaph as Daisy was. “And here was I thinking it was pretty clear.”

Beside her, Daisy swallowed. “I can’t. You know that.” Her voice dropped suddenly, and was whisperingly quiet, so much so that Lou had to lean in to hear it. “If you’re just after a bit of a fun, do me a favour and get it somewhere else. Maybe you don’t care, but I think it’s a pretty cheap thing to do. I won’t be made fun of.”

She huffed and buried her face in the collar of her coat, even though it wasn’t that cold.

Daisy’s assessment of her character wasn’t exactly complimentary, and Lou couldn’t help feeling hurt. Was she that much of a bully? She turned her face slightly and looked carefully at Daisy’s ear. “What makes you think I’d make fun of you?”

“I thought you made fun of everything.”

“Do I? I don’t lark about on the job, do I?”

Daisy heaved a sigh that sounded so angry it might have been a horse blowing. “Well the makeup, that was all a joke, wasn’t it? Let’s turn the ugly duckling into a swan just for one night, so we can all gape and make snide comments about how the little mouse polished up nicely!”

Oh dear. “That wasn’t what I intended.”

“Oh?”

“No, if anything I was trying to play fairy godmother. I - well, I guess I know that not everyone has access to cosmetics the way I do. I wanted you to feel pretty for once.”

Daisy frowned.

“And I want to make this clear,” Lou continued, a forceful note creeping in. “I’m not saying you aren’t pretty every day. Just that - well, maybe it’s slipped your attention. Didn’t think the cows were complimenting you on your lovely hair.”

Daisy let out a harsh sounding laugh. “I don’t even know why you picked me anyway.”

“Because I like you!” Lou protested. “And, well, I noticed the way you looked at me. I thought perhaps you might have seen something.”

At this, the poor girl looked as if she wanted to cry, and turned her face away suddenly. This was going a lot worse than Lou had hoped.

“Are we going to keep talking about this?” Daisy whispered, making to get off the bench. “Because I’d rather keep walking if that’s the case.” Her voice dropped even further. “Yes, you kissed me. And maybe you didn’t know what you were doing, maybe you did. But let’s leave it at that.”

Something told Lou that leaving sleeping dogs to lie wasn’t going to help in the long run. She wanted to grab the girl and shake her, but instead settled on persistence, pacing after Daisy as she cut the corner of the path and strode across the leaf-strewn lawn. They were leaving the maintained centre of the park, and were rapidly striding into a more neglected area, full of giant thickets bristling with thorns. An odd scarf was hung on a statue, and beneath one of the bushes Lou could see a lost ball. At least there was no danger of being overheard here, although they might disturb a sleeping raccoon.

She caught up to Daisy, and feeling a little out of breath, tugged at her sleeve. Get this thing over and done with, and if the girl slapped her, then at least she could say she’d tried.

Daisy, to her credit, stopped in her tracks, planted her hands in her pockets, looked bald-faced at Lou and waited.

“You kissed back,” Lou said evenly.

Daisy’s face fell. “I don’t know why you want to go down this path. It’s not as if people have ever liked this about me.”

“Did you ever like it about yourself?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded miserable. “I go back and forth on it. I used to be happy about it - if you could believe that.” A broken, little laugh, which sounded like nothing so much as something being stepped on. “But then - well, turns out it’s not looked upon with much favour.”

“What made you happy with it?” Lou asked softly. She wanted to reach out and touch her face, but was afraid Daisy would shrink from it. Too early for that, she supposed.

“Thought it was a nice feeling. Love, I suppose. Like how people feel in books.” Daisy smiled shyly at this, and Lou realised she was looking kindly upon her younger self. Poor kid, Lou thought. Poor skinny redhead scrape-kneed kid, with no one to talk to but cows.

“It’s nice, when you have it,” Lou said fondly. “Love, that is.”

Daisy scoffed. “Didn’t picture you as the sentimental type.”

“Well maybe you’re wrong about me. You were before.” She found herself laughing. “Heard they had bets on the floor about how long I’d last.”

Daisy smiled at that. “Georgie and Donna’s idea. They had you down for two days.”

Lou raised her eyebrows. “What’d you put down?”

“Oh, I’m not a gambler. I didn’t take part.”

“That’s very charitable of you.”

“Well, I thought I’d give you a chance first, that’s all.”

“You’ve got good friends,” Lou said. “Christ, Harriet was going to punch me in the teeth if I upset you again.”

Daisy didn’t look as amused at this as Lou had hoped. “If they knew about me, they wouldn’t -“

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lou said, darkly amused. “I’ve been able to brush off all sorts of things. At college, well, nobody takes it particularly seriously - just girls having fun, that’s what they think of it. Nobody’s ever been offended.”

Daisy’s tone was withering. “Well it wasn’t like that where _I_ come from. I lost almost every friend I had. So don’t go on at me about how nobody’s going to mind, because in my experience, they damn well hate you for it.”

“Oh,” said Lou. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Here - come here.” She reached out her arms and Daisy fell into them, her chin nestling against Lou’s shoulder, her hands finding Lou’s waist and clutching as if she didn’t want to let go. It was rather like the dancing in a way, as if they had a beat to propel them together. Lou looked about her and saw nothing but squirrels, took the chance, turned her head and kissed Daisy’s cheek, then pressed her lips to the corner of her mouth, where she might one day find a smile. “I like you. I’m not sure how to convince you of it.”

“I think you’re doing it now,” Daisy said, and her cheek against Lou’s was warm.

——————

“So, I gather you and Miss Radcliffe have made up?” Harriet had said with a grin. She’d instantly popped out of her room like a prairie dog the minute Daisy had opened the front door, and was looking at what must have been a rather dreamy, faraway version of her friend.

Daisy nodded, feeling a little fuzzy, and wondering if the feeling was something like being drunk.

“That’s good!” Harriet said the words with an uncomplicated pleasure. “Now I don’t even have to punch her for you! Although I would have.”

“I know you would,” Daisy said, “but it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Well not _now,_ ” Harriet said, pulling Daisy into her second embrace of the day. “It’s just as well, because I wanted to keep my friendship with both of you. I mean, that girl can dance, and unlike you, she clearly enjoys it.”

Daisy made a face.

“Well, it’s not like I enjoy making you do things under sufferance.”

“I don’t know about that,” Daisy retorted. “You seemed to have an awful lot of fun with it before.”

“Awww,” Harriet said, giving her a jab in the side. “I only went with it cause I could tell you secretly wanted it.”

A chill washed over her as she considered the implications of secretly wanting something. Could Harriet have twigged? She thought that she’d kept it all under wraps, but maybe Harriet had seen something, maybe she’d followed her eyes when Daisy looked at Lou, hoping that Lou wasn’t looking. Too many damned looks. Even if Lou wanted her to stare at her like she was a delicious pastry, it wasn’t exactly something she wanted her friends to observe.

“Hey, I was just about to put the kettle on. You want something?”

Harriet’s face was cheerily oblivious. Daisy forced herself to relax.

A week passed, and now Lou was catching her eye on the line once more, and giving her little smiles, which she allowed herself to return. It felt like a shared joke, and it was good to see Lou be pals with the other girls once more. Their fight - if it was a fight - had hung over the team like a cloud, and now that it had been resolved, things felt a good deal better.

Even if it went no further than that, having Lou as a friend was more than good enough.

Change of shift. Same as always. Daisy checked that Blue were squared away, that all the lines were turned off and the girls hadn’t left anything on the floor, nodded to Mrs Lip as she went out, and felt the burble of chatting and laughter around her as the Blue girls went to the locker room to change into civilian clothes. Someone was singing a snatch of a song - Vera Lynn, maybe, but it could have been any of the songs that flooded the radio and filled the dance halls, Daisy could never quite keep up. The tune crept into the air and Georgie caught it, and then Lou joined in. Daisy closed her eyes for a moment, still in her slip, and listened. Lou had a sweet, rich voice, a little coarse around the edges, but the makings of a good contralto. She would have done well in the church choir at home. Most of the women were sopranos, and the choir had lacked bass tones ever since the men went off to war.

“Hey.” Something brushed her elbow. She opened her eyes, to find Lou taking advantage of a break in the refrain to reach over Harriet, who was ducking and tying her shoes, and press a folded piece of paper into her palm. Then, touching up her lipstick, Lou continued to sing almost unconsciously. Daisy hurried into her clothes and then left, the song lingering after her.

_Tomorrow. Just you wait and see._

The note was a small thing, written in pencil on onionskin paper. Daisy unfolded it the minute she got out of the factory gates.

_Should we try again?  
_

_Nixie  
xxoo_

She folded it up, crammed it into her pocket and took a deep breath.

The name Lou must have used with her Radcliffe girls indicated enough on its own, but the suggestion, the hugs and kisses with it? She hardly dared to believe it. All seemed as fragile as glass - and if she handled it poorly, it’d shatter in much the same way.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about Lou with the Radcliffe girls. Seemed like she’d done more than them with just dance, although Daisy couldn’t really think what. Petting, she supposed - kissing, touching, lying in each other’s arms, which sounded dizzyingly sexy, but didn’t seem like a whole lot of anything actually sexual. She’d never allowed herself to think too hard about what two girls could do for each other.

Well, one thing, maybe. She imagined curling her fingers into Lou and immediately decided it was a bad idea to let her mind go that far ahead.

Was it love again, this time? Too hard to tell. She felt drawn to her - so drawn it hurt, and felt that with her, she was a different version of herself. A better one, one people liked. Lou had been drawn into the fold in a way she hadn’t expected, and so it wasn’t much of a surprise when, that evening, she walked out of her room to get a start on dinner, to find Lou sitting at the table playing cards with Meg and Harriet, grinning over a glass of something. They were laughing, and for a horrible moment, Daisy thought it was something to do with her, but when she entered their flushed faces had no guilt, only joy.

“Thought we’d go out,” Lou said, grinning.

“What, all of us?” Daisy paused, midway through reaching for the saucepan.

“No, silly,” Harriet butted in. “Just you.”

She went pink, scared they were making a joke, but Harriet was smiling like she’d just gotten Daisy the best present in the world.

“Kevin’s just got back from leave! I’m going to go meet him and have dinner with his folks tonight, and then we’re going to go off for a dance.”

“And I’m going to see my brother,” Meg added.

“So it really is just us,” Lou said. “Everybody else was busy.” At this, she caught Daisy’s eye, and the minute the other two looked at their cards, she smiled at her slowly and very deliberately, and looked at her through her eyelashes.

“How hungry are you?” Lou said, as the two of them left the rooming house and made their way down the road in the direction of town. Lou was wearing heels, making her as tall as Daisy, which helped with minimising her feelings of being gangly and awkward, and as the two walked her companion reached out a hand and brushed Daisy’s knuckles in a grazing kind of affection that made her long for more.

“Oh, not very,” Daisy replied, struggling a little to keep up, as Lou was walking at a fast clip. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you were about to start on dinner..”

“It’s stew. Takes a couple of hours.”

“Huh. Of course.” Lou grinned, as if making a joke at her own ignorance. “When I was making dinner at - oh, hell, you don’t even want to hear me say it, at _Radcliffe,_ it was often just toasting cheese in a chafing dish.”

Daisy frowned. “Didn’t you have cooks?”

“Well yes, but sometimes you _really_ want some melted cheese.” Lou’s smile made it seem as if cheese were something sinful. Given the rationing, it didn’t seem like that much of a leap. Daisy laughed, loving the look, loving the way that Lou’s dark hair seemed to blend into the night, making her face almost an apparition above her navy scarf, a vision of loveliness coming out of the dark. She wanted to kiss her, but they were turning up a main road now.

“So, ah, what are we doing then?” Daisy whispered, wondering if they were going to stop at some place in the city. She didn’t want Lou to feel obligated to pay, and the restaurants in her eyeline looked rather more than she could afford.

“Well,” Lou said, painted lips curled into a smile. She squeezed Daisy’s arm in hers, and bumped shoulders with her, and Daisy shivered, even while knowing that to a passer-by they would have looked nothing more than good pals. Then Lou was crooning at her ear, voice low and smooth. “I was rather intending to take you to bed. Then we can grab something to eat afterwards, if you like.”

Daisy’s face burned. “Oh. I, uh, isn’t that a little backwards? Shouldn’t we go to dinner first?”

“It’s better if you don’t do it so soon after eating,” Lou murmured. “Trust me.” Now her face felt as if it were aflame, and only burned even harder when Lou added “Of course, we could wait for an hour or so afterwards - like swimming, if you want to think of it like that, but I’m afraid I can’t pretend I’ll be that patient.”

Daisy managed an incoherent noise, and before her face had time to cool, Lou raised her hand and hailed a taxi, and they were sitting together in the back, knees pressed together, even though they didn’t have to be. The cab driver looked resolutely straight ahead, and even though he could probably see them in the rear mirror, Lou didn’t seem to care, so Daisy resolved she wouldn’t either. Think of it like an experience, she told herself. Just be in the moment, enjoy it, and then you can think about it afterwards.

“You know,” Daisy whispered, “if Harriet and Meg were going out, we could have just stayed at home. Would have saved you the cost of the fare.”

Lou snorted, and then leaned over so far her nose brushed Daisy’s cheek. Her voice was so low it was barely a breath. “Yes, but maybe I want to take you to mine.”

They arrived at a building that could be best described as stately. Big corner block, huge porch, masses of ornamental carving on the balustrades, columns. Mansard roof. The whole thing was painted forest green, with white trim, and despite the darkness, there was only one light on, a glowing lozenge just above the door.

“Oh, they’re out,” Lou said nonchalantly as Daisy gawped up at the house, marvelling at what she could take in by streetlight. “They went to New York for the week, and I begged off. Claimed factory work, which isn’t exactly a lie.” She unlocked the door, reached in and turned on the hall light. “We have the whole place to ourselves.”

The place was…well, Daisy couldn’t even begin to describe it. Massive. A huge entrance hall, with a tiled floor. Grand sweeping staircase with plum-coloured carpet. Oil paintings - was that - oh god, was that an oil painting of two dark haired young women - was that _Lou?_

“Wow.” The word escaped her mouth before she had a chance to comprehend the full extent of what she was seeing.

“Well, welcome to Chez Nixon,” Lou said, spreading out her arms and making a self-conscious, showy turn. She looked embarrassed, as if she were scared Daisy was about to ridicule her.

“It’s…big.”

Lou nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s big. Here, I’ll give you a tour.”

Then she was taking Daisy’s hand and whisking her through rooms, pausing to kiss her in each one, which was touchingly silly and something Daisy couldn’t quite get over. Breakfast room _, kiss_ (who ever thought of a room just for breakfast?) Conservatory, _kiss,_ kitchens, _kiss - oh look, there’s a block of cheese in the cupboard here, I didn’t know that was there,_ rear-mud room filled with skates and skis, _kiss,_ scullery, _kiss,_ on the stairs, which nearly made Daisy lose her balance, on the landing, under the watchful eye of that huge portrait which was slightly unsettling, and then up the stairs, past the bathroom - _if you need it_ \- and then suddenly they were in a bedroom. Lou’s bedroom. Carpeted, with blue sprigged wallpaper, a vanity with three mirrors on it, large wardrobe, bedside table, bookshelves, writing desk, armchair (how could a bedroom have so much in it?) and a bed. A large, freshly-made bed that they were presumably both going to use. She wondered if she’d be sleeping in it too, actually sleeping, her chin tucked against Lou’s shoulder, arms around her waist, and felt an almost overwhelming sense of longing for that particular kind of friendly closeness.

Years without hugging your friends tended to do that.

“Well, here we are,” Lou said, and then shucked off her coat in a heap on the floor. “Should have thought of coats in the entrance hall but I got distracted. Can’t think why.”

Daisy removed her own coat, folded it and put it on the armchair. When she turned around, Lou was looking at her expectantly, and for once, she knew what she wanted.

For the first time, she was initiating the kiss. Lou had kicked off her shoes somewhere along the way and was tilting her head up slightly to meet Daisy’s mouth, and it was soft and sweet and lingering. Better than she could have imagined. She stroked Lou’s hair, and Lou turned her eyes on her as if she were seeing something special.

It was different from before, now that they both knew what they wanted.

When they broke from the kiss, Lou made to undress herself and Daisy watched her, wondering if Lou was wanting her to participate - but it was a side zipper, and there was no way to get the garment off without inelegantly wiggling out of it anyway, which Lou did in good humour, and then stood before Daisy in her slip, smiling encouragingly as she tracked her eyes. Down, over the silk satin, clinging to her body, revealing every shadow, every line of it. Daisy now noticed Lou was wearing real silk stockings, and that while her slip was white, her garter belt and panties were black. She could see the shadow of it through the slip. The bra, too, that was black, going by the edge of it, and the combination of them all showed a certain casualness. Lou had to have been taught how you were supposed to coordinate your slip with your underwear, but she obviously didn’t care, and that made Daisy think she wouldn’t mind too much about other things too, like Daisy’s cheap dress, threadbare slip, her inexperience.

Lou put her hands on Daisy’s waist, and she felt the warmth of them there, and then Lou moved her hand to her buttons, causing Daisy to let out a little gasp, which seemed to delight the other woman, going by the way her eyes sparkled.

“This alright?”

“Oh, it’s more than alright,” Daisy managed to say. “Only I hope you don’t expect me to romance you properly, it’s not something I’ve had much of a chance to try -“

“Shhh,” murmured Lou, and her lips whispered across Daisy’s neck. Now her hand was brushing against Daisy’s slip, moving from her waist to her breasts. “Ok?”

Daisy nodded, and tried not to expire while Lou touched them. It was gentle, her hand cupping her breast and squeezing softly, her thumb brushing against her nipple, and it wasn’t so much that it felt amazing to have your breasts touched as it felt amazing to know that anyone would want to touch them at all - and going by the way Lou was pushing down the front of her slip and easing her bra sideways and kissing at the curve of her breast, well that was - oh god, she didn’t even know, but despite feeling like she was floating in her own head, unable to believe it was happening, she didn’t want it to stop.

“I’d like to touch you,” she managed to say.

Lou looked up, lips wet. “So touch me then.”

Daisy’s face burned. “I’m too shy.”

And with that, Lou made a comforting sound and kissed her on the mouth again, her hands on either side of her face. “Just a minute.” She was taking off her own bra, hands fussing around behind her back, and then she whipped it off hastily, the strap of her slip coming down her arm and exposing one of her breasts, so that one seemed shy, still hiding behind the silk, and the other bold, daring Daisy to look upon it and do something about it.

“Here. Give me your hands.” Lou took them and then guided them to her own breasts, squeezing Daisy’s hands against them. She felt them yield, soft, heavy, full against her hands, and she gasped, and then felt silly for reacting so openly.

Lou chuckled. “You like them?”

“They’re so _soft._ ” She couldn’t keep the wonder from her voice.

“Well of course they’re soft,” Lou said indulgently, and took her hands away, smiling, and placed them on Daisy’s hips.

“Mine aren’t that soft,” Daisy countered, and it was true. Hers were small and firm and not much to look at, so she thought, no matter how much Lou seemed to enjoy them. There just wasn’t a lot there to work with, whereas Lou had ample, soft, delightful breasts, and they looked almost criminally good with the slip hanging off them, and she squeezed them again experimentally, and was rewarded with Lou’s breath quickening.

“Can I?” She slid a hand down Lou’s side, towards her rear.

“You can touch me pretty much anywhere,” Lou said, “and I’ll love it. Except maybe don’t poke me in the eye.” So Daisy took the hint and drew Lou towards her by her buttocks, until they were pressed together, and she was fondling, and Lou was running her hands just about everywhere, lifting up the slip and touching Daisy’s back, squeezing her rear, teasing her in a way that made heat rush all over Daisy’s body. She was now wet, growing wetter at every touch, her thighs slick against each other. She dearly hoped Lou wouldn’t find it objectionable.

They were locked together, but still standing, and Daisy hoped they’d get on the bed soon, although to do what, she still wasn’t quite sure. All fingers, she supposed, but she wasn’t sure how they were going to do that at the same time. 

“Lou,” she found herself asking hesitantly. “What did you do with your Radcliffe girls exactly?”

Lou stared at her and then a slow smile spread across her features. “I’m about to show you.”

She was on the bed now, her legs spread, knees up, and Lou was saying “so what do you like?” and Daisy looked her in the eye and said tremblingly, “I don’t know.”

“Well let’s start with this, then,” and then Lou had positioned herself so she was kneeling on the floor, and Daisy was open to her, her rear on the edge of the bed. She felt self-conscious, because there was no way in hell looking at her like this was going to be sexy. She’d taken off the garter belt so it wouldn’t pinch, and the stockings and slip, but felt too shy to take off her bra, which she was now regretting, because maybe it would have been better to be completely naked rather than half-so.

Daisy realised, perhaps too late, that their bodies weren’t going to come together as one. For two girls, that probably wasn’t even possible.

Instead, they were apparently going to do…whatever this was.

And then Lou was between her legs, and her tongue was on her, warm and wet, and at first it was slightly ticklish, not as firm as she liked to touch herself, but then Lou started working at her with her hand too, easing fingers in her, and her tongue pressed harder, and it felt so incredibly good that she whimpered, and Lou took her mouth away for a moment and said “Is that good?”

In return she could only moan, eyes still closed. To look down seemed too much.

Then Lou was pressing her face between her legs again, and her tongue was slickly making its way along her and then into her. She couldn’t help but buck against it, wanting more of it. At that moment she opened her eyes and saw the pale plane of her own belly, her raised thighs, and between her legs, Lou’s gorgeous face, eyes lowered, mouth almost buried in her. It felt like she was being kissed down there, but more. It felt like she was being fucked. At this revelation Lou looked up, and her dark eyes were huge and full of lust, and that..oh god, that -

She rocked her hips and Lou gripped her thighs and slurped at her, and she could hear how wet it was, the wetness of Lou’s tongue and lips, the wetness of her own body, and it should have been shocking and it was but the shock of it only excited her more, only made her reach out and put a hand on Lou’s head, and before she could think about it, press her lovely face harder against her. She felt her nose against her clit, her tongue pushing at her, could hear a soft gulping sound as Lou swallowed wetness, and then it was as if she was only seeing behind her eyes, a spark running through her as she bucked and cried and came so hard she thought she’d die of it.

It had been incredible but as she flopped down on the bed, she felt like she’d just been wrung out. What had just happened had been more than she ever could have hoped for, but now the elation was fading she felt heavy, tired, and somehow sad, and feeling sad made her feel stupid for feeling sad.

“ _So_ hot,” Lou said raggedly, turning her head and panting against Daisy’s slippery thigh. “God, you were so good for me.”

“Don’t,” Daisy said again, for now she felt embarrassed at having grabbed at Lou’s head and forced her against her. It seemed like a horrid thing to do, like she’d used someone else’s body for her own pleasure, without giving a thought for how that might feel for Lou. And then she was being so selfless about it, so forgiving, that Daisy could hardly stand it. When Lou got on the bed beside her, her face and neck slick and wet, and made to touch her, it was too much. Rather than something kind and mutual and tender, she’d just turned up and expected Lou to service her, and Lou for whatever reason had, and now was trying to pet her and whisper sweet nothings, and all Daisy wanted to do was cry.

“You’re such a nice girl, you know?” Lou was saying, and kissed Daisy on the forehead. To her horror, Daisy burst into tears.

“Oh dear.” Lou sounded worried now, and struggled into a sitting position, her thigh against Daisy’s head, her hand stroking Daisy’s hair. “Guess I moved a little fast for you.”

“It’s not that!” Daisy managed to snap through her sobs, feeling foolish and stupid.

“Oh,” Lou said again, and there suddenly seemed to be understanding in her voice. “Oh, of course. You poor thing.” Her hand felt nice in Daisy’s hair, gently raking through each strand. “When you’ve been thinking about it for years, it can be a bit much when it actually happens.”

Daisy nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke, her voice sounded watery and choked. “I’m sorry for - well, it’s not very sexy, is it?”

Lou chuckled. “Well not everything about sex is going to be sexy.” She stroked Daisy’s cheek. “I’m just glad you’re alright, that’s all.”

The night seemed over, because surely Lou was going to show Daisy out and that would be it, but instead she felt Lou curl against her from behind, her soft breasts pressing against her back, her arm around her waist. She breathed into it, feeling Lou’s body warm against her.

“I’m sorry for crying,” Daisy whispered, taking hold of Lou’s hand.

“Oh, it’s alright.” Her voice was low, and sounded a little tired. “Hardly the worst reaction I’ve ever gotten.”

“Why, what’s the worst?” Daisy breathed, thinking of being caught in the act or being slapped or called awful names, and feeling horrible for Lou for having to weather it.

“The worst is when they just get up afterwards and put on their frock and panties and just say “cheerio then” and walk out the door without even bothering to stay for a cuddle. It makes you feel like you’re nothing.”

There was a sorrowful tone in Lou’s voice, and compared to her usual flippancy, it sounded ever the more deeply sad.

“Oh.” Not finding the words, she squeezed Lou’s hand. “You used the word fun before, but…I didn’t know. I didn’t think you wanted anything serious.”

Lou sighed heavily. “That’s just something you say, isn’t it? But it doesn’t mean that’s what I wanted.”

“Oh, Lou.” She turned a little in her arms and kissed her.

Lou had turned off the overhead lights and settled them both in with a lamp, and it was casting a comfortable glow over both of them. She became conscious of how their legs tangled together, her calf touching Lou’s knee, thighs touching thighs, and wondered at the look in Lou’s eyes. They were dark and had a distant look to them, as if she were heavy under her own thoughts. It was strange, all of it, to have finally gone there with her, but it felt right to lie in another woman’s arms. She was almost able to convince herself that nobody else would give a damn about it. With a war on, how could you bring yourself to worry about who someone loved?

Oh god. Love. Let it be that. Let it not be.

Daisy gasped, her face burning at her own meanness. How could she have been so selfish? “Lou, I just realised that I barely touched you.”

“You’re touching me now,” Lou pointed out, her voice a little fuzzy and sleepy-sounding. “It’s nice.”

“ _You_ know what I mean,” Daisy said pointedly. “You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“No, damn that,” said Daisy, struggling upright, easing her way out of those flung limbs. “I want to do something nice for you too.”

Lou smiled and huffed, as if she thought the idea were admirable but faintly ridiculous. “You’re sweet, but…dear, it’s your first time. Hell, I got to be your first!” There was a wondering tone in her voice as if she’d only just realised. “That’s more than enough.”

Daisy protested. “I want to make you feel good. You know, can I - can I do the French thing on you too?”

Lou chuckled. “You want to go pearl diving?” She ruffled Daisy’s hair. “Maybe another time. I think we’ll leave that one for a future encounter.”

Her disappointment at not tasting Lou, at not seeing her so completely undone was eclipsed by the suggestion of a future encounter, and the tone in her voice that suggested Lou really meant it. Then again maybe Lou wouldn’t want her mouth on her, seeing as she’d probably be terrible at it.

“Oh, well…what would you like?” Daisy blushed. “I’d really like to see you finish.”

Lou’s grin was delighted, but she didn’t say anything further, just slipped a hand down the front of her own panties and began to move her fingers, only to suddenly frown and withdraw her hand and turn away from Daisy, glaring at her hand in the low light as if it had personally wronged her. “Oh _hell_.”

“What is it?”

Lou grimaced. “Monthlies. They must have just come on. Didn’t notice because -” She gestured to the black panties and grimaced again, rolled to the side and looked down, frowning at a dark smear on the bedspread. “ _Damn_ it!”

“I don’t care,” said Daisy recklessly, reaching for Lou’s hips, about to slip her hand into her panties, monthlies or no monthlies, but then she remembered that Lou might be sore and said, “only if you want to.”

Lou blushed, and looked embarrassed. “I just…most people don’t really like that.”

The Radcliffe girls. Daisy thought about them now, and realised that Lou must have made everything about them, and hidden away herself as she did so. Previously she’d thought the encounters must have been amorous fun, or maybe a series of sweethearts, and she’d felt jealous of Lou for having a succession of girlfriends, but the image that conjured up didn’t seem much fun at all. Lonely, really, being with someone and having to hide from them like that.

“Do you still want me to do it?” Lou asked, looking doubtful.

“Yes!” Daisy wanted to shake her. Of _course_ she wanted to see Lou throw her head back and moan. Lou had seen _her_ come, it was only fair.

“I’d uh, feel a bit more comfortable if I do it,” Lou said warily.

“Of course,” Daisy said, not wanting to contribute to any sense of shame. “But I’d really like to do something for you anyway.” She ran a hand over Lou’s front, over the soft curve of her breast, over her ribs and stomach, touched her hip, rested her hand on her rump when she bent her leg up. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’ll be amazing to watch you - but is there anything I can do for you that you can’t do yourself?”

To her surprise Lou had a ready answer. Looked her dead in the eye and said “You can suck my tits.”

Daisy blushed. “Is that nice for you?”

“I love it, and I can’t do it myself, so yes. Please.” Lou was still wearing most of her lingerie but she pulled her slip over her head, looked at Daisy and waited.

“Oh, you want me to start with -“

“ _Yes,_ I want you to start with that. It’s been a while since you came, which was hot as hell by the way, but now I’m going to need to get warmed up again.” Lou gave her a pointed look.

“Is there any way that you like it?” Daisy asked cautiously. “Anything I shouldn’t do?”

“Nope, I’m not fussy. I like hands on my tits and I like mouths on my tits, and I’m not tender there so you don’t need to tread carefully.”

“Oh, I see,” said Daisy, and then dipped her head, resting it on Lou’s breastbone, and guided Lou’s nipple into her mouth. She sucked gently at first, making sure to keep her mouth loose and wet. Something about it felt good, although she couldn’t say why. Just astonishingly exciting, to have her mouth on Lou like that, and when the other woman’s breath started to quicken, and she pressed her hand against Daisy’s hair as if to say _more_ , Daisy sucked harder, and fondled with her hands, squeezing first softly, then, at Lou’s moans, hard.

“ _Yes,_ ” Lou gasped, and Daisy could see her back arching off the bed. Then Lou moved her hand back down and started stroking herself through her underwear, her fingers pushing insistently at herself. Daisy turned her attention to both breasts for a minute, fondling them and watching them move in her hands, so goddamned soft, so perfect, and took a look at Lou’s face, and oh, her mouth was open, eyes closed, and she was panting, head thrown back, a flush creeping up her chest. Before Daisy knew what she was doing she’d put her hand on Lou’s face, slid her fingers against Lou’s mouth, and as Lou let out another moan she slipped her fingers in and watched as Lou began to suck them.

“God, you look so good,” she managed to murmur, and Lou whimpered around her fingers and moved her own arm faster.

She turned her attention back to Lou’s breasts and put her mouth on the other one, and as Lou stroked and stroked, her hands sliding into her panties, her panties coming off, Daisy moved the angle of her head so she could see Lou’s hands between her legs, could see how one hand stroked and one hand entered, fingers thrusting slickly, and for a moment there she couldn’t hear anything except the watery sound of Lou’s movements, and she knew she must be getting wetter and wetter and wetter -

She decided to try something a little rougher and took Lou’s nipple between her teeth and lightly bit her, and going by that hoarse cry, that must have done something. She did again to the other breast and then, when Lou jolted, soothed her by sucking with a soft, slobbery mouth, wet and hungry against those soft, full breasts.

“Oh fuck,” Lou said, “oh fuck oh _fuck.”_ Her hips rocked, Daisy sucked and bit and grabbed, resting heavily on her, determined to tongue every inch of Lou’s chest, watching as Lou got more flushed and sweaty, her head back further, thrown around, thrashing, and then she yelled and shook and came, her legs trembling, Daisy’s mouth still on her.

“Oh god, you’re so good, you’re so _good,”_ were the first words, when Lou caught her breath, and she was petting Daisy and throwing her arm around her shoulders and squeezing her, trying to reach for her ass even, and Daisy squirmed a little because Lou was threatening to squash her in some of the positions, but then Daisy straddled her and let her body lie across Lou and giggled and kissed and let Lou kiss her back and she didn’t give a damn if Lou’s bloody fingers left marks on her skin because who could bring yourself to be fussed about something so small when you’d just experienced one of the most wonderful things a girl could ever dream of.

“Daisy,” Lou breathed against her forehead, her lips brushing at her hairline, and then Daisy slipped down, her head against Lou’s neck and said, wonderingly, _Nixie,_ because she thought of that name and the Radcliffe girls in the same breath, and wanted so very very much to show Lou another way that she could be herself.

“Nixie, huh?” said Lou, and the look in her eyes was like being seen for the first time.

They didn’t go out after all, because Lou had remembered the block of cheese in the kitchen. They put on dressing gowns - Lou had more than one, which struck Daisy as particularly luxurious, especially when she realised that the pink quilted one she’d been handed was monogrammed -and ventured down to the kitchen, where Daisy leaned against the cabinets and watched Lou flip bits of bread and cheese in a skillet.

“How are you feeling?” Lou said, over the sound of sizzling.

“Different,” said Daisy, and smiled at the back of Lou’s head, revelling in her mussed-up hair.

And it was true, for she had never allowed herself to think that this was going to happen, much less with Lou Nixon, who was stunning in her green dress, who’d been with girls more sparkling and cultured than Daisy could ever hope to be. Who didn’t seem to need this but had reached for it anyway, and had brushed her hand against Daisy’s hair and told her she was beautiful.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Lou said almost casually, as she slid the grilled cheese onto a plate and handed it to Daisy. Her smile was wide and soft, her face bare of makeup. She must have removed it when they were cleaning up, all busying together in the bathroom, an expansive room tiled in seafoam green. Looking upon it, Daisy could have concluded that Lou looked better without it - for the clean, scrubbed look suited her - or she could have thought she looked worse, less glamourous - but instead, it was the sheer fact of being able to see her without it that struck her. This wasn’t the face she gave to the world, it was a face only some people got to see.

“So,” Lou said. “I gather you like me then.”

Daisy raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I suppose you could say that.”

“You aren’t going to suddenly change your mind?” Lou asked flippantly, but there was a nervous set to her shoulders. It angered Daisy, to think that Lou might have experience of this. Of laying herself bare for someone and then being picked over and discarded.

“Are you kidding?” It was embarrassing to be so sincere but she couldn’t help spilling. “Nobody’s _ever_ liked me like this, especially no-one like you. Hell, I’m not even pretty, and you’re so -”

Lou scowled and butted in before Daisy could continue. “Like hell you aren’t. You’re gorgeous and I’m prepared to tell you that every day if it’ll make you believe it.”

“You’re right,” Daisy said, and Lou raised her eyebrows and a smile quirked at her lips, only for Daisy to continue by saying “Nixie, there really is nothing like cheese.”

“You’re maddening,” Lou said, and grinned and kissed her.

If anyone had seen them, they would have noticed two young women in bathrobes, one brunette and one red-headed, both looking like they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, eating grilled cheese that smelled of smoking butter and was singed along the crusts. They might know Louisa Nixon, heiress of a chemical plant, or Daisy Winters, munitions supervisor and refugee from a closed-off town, and wonder at their friendship, might wonder why they’d kissed - perhaps good news, perhaps alcohol - but they wouldn’t know the half of it.

They wouldn’t know anything at all.


End file.
